Why I Don't Make Fun of Fat Rachel
by Fuzzy Necromancer
Summary: A son of Ares explains how the always-hungry chubby daughter of an obscure goddess earned his respect when threatened by some cannibalistic giants. Contains weight gain and vore.
1. Chapter 1

You might not have seen her around camp, and if you did you probably didn't pay much attention. Who cares about Rachel Venus (no relation to the love goddess), aka "Fat Rachel", aka "By Zeus and Hera it's coming towards us!"? She's just some dorky redhead spilling out of her Evil Dead T-shirt and grey sweat pants. What's so special about a sleazy glutton who's never been on a quest, likes the boys almost as much as Aphrodite's kids, and takes up too much space in the Hermes cabin?

I'll tell you why I don't call her names, even though she says she doesn't mind the teasing. I'll tell you why, if you have the sense the gods gave brain-damaged Cyclopes, you'll never cross her when she's in a bad mood, rare though that may be. I saw her get claimed.

Now, me, you might have seen around camp. I'm Derek Payne, son of Ares, tall, built, with a lot of scars. Alright, that doesn't really narrow it down. It might help to known that I've got wavy dark-brown hair, storm-grey eyes, and that I've got the kind of chiseled face that just looks better with a few scars on it, if I do say so myself. Lots of girls from Aphrodite's cabin (and a few guys from Dionysus's and Hermes's cabin) get distracted when I come in with my clothes all torn, sweaty, and bloodstained from a good workout. I'm a great friend to have at your back and a worse enemy to have facing you. But hey, I'm blathering on like one of those Aphrodite primadonnas. This isn't about me. This is about Rae.

She caught me outside the camp boundaries. I know, I know, "how did she sneak up on you?" Stealth never was my specialty, I'm more of a head on guy. Anyway, she wasn't exactly fat back then, just chubby. The reason we used to call her Fat Rachel was because, any moment she wasn't actively shoveling food into her freckled face, her stomach rumbled like a ticked-off hellhound.

To this day I don't know how she snuck up on me. Whenever I ask about it she just snickers and waggles her eyebrows. One moment, I'm sticking to the shadows of a weed-covered underpass. The next I feel hot breath on my neck and she says, in that lisping, girly voice, "Boo!"

Of course I didn't jump or flinch. I just cursed myself for being a dolt and letting her sneak up on me. I should have heard her stomach growl, but I've noticed these days that when she gets really, really hungry, she hardly makes a noise at all.

"What the tartarus are you doing here?" I snapped. My celestial bronze battleaxe was already out. She didn't flinch when I held it against her face. Say what you will, this girl had balls. (I mean, you know what I mean. Stop laughing.)

"I could ask you the same thing, " she whispered. Some drunken partiers hooted in the distance. A breeze kicked up, carrying the scent of smoke and poppy with it while I tried to think of a smart comeback. She ran her bright green eyes up and down me, sizing me up like a plate of barbeque. I definitely didn't blush.

"Go to the crows, lard-butt" I snarled. Okay, not the wittiest thing, but I always already rearing for a fight. I'd been stupid enough to go out on another dare, stupid enough to get caught, and stupid enough to stand here growling while laughter twinkled in Rachel's fiendish green eyes. She flipped back her hair and rubbed her stomach, like "lard-butt" was a compliment.

"You lost another bet, didn't you?" Rachel said. Her smile widened as I drew breath to argue. "No, let me guess, this is a dare, right? You have to bring back something from a store to prove you ventured into mortal civilization."

"Maybe," I grumbled. One of the few downsides to being a son of Ares; it's hard to back down from a dare, no matter how stupid. Nobody in my cabin wants to back down or lose face, and that leads to a lot of…less-than-ideal decisions.

But just because I'm built and handsome, don't think I'm a clueless meathead. A good warrior knows when to negotiate, and I'd been outmaneuvered.

"What's the price for your silence?" I said, lowering my weapon a little.

"Straight to the point," she said, with a warm smile. "How about dinner and a movie?"

"Fat chance, " I said. I couldn't' help it, she'd left herself wide open. She burst into a laughter a split-second after I did. Our laughter sounded funny, kinda distant, but I thought it was just the echoes of the underpass. A big slow truck rumbled by us, it's transmission as rough as a giant's breathing.

"Seriously, I just want five tubs of ice cream," she said. Her stomach growled. "And two bottles of chocolate syrup."

I lifted my axe again. "Two tubs, no syrup."

She narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. "Five tubs, two bottles of syrup."

This girl wasn't backing down easy, but I knew here weak spot. You might think every girl's favorite brand of ice cream was Ben and Jerry. However, an experienced warrior on the battlefield of love knows deeper secrets. I lowered my axe and took in a breath of poppy-scented air.

"One bottle of syrup, three tubs of Haagen Daz or Breyers, whichever they have in stock."

Fat Rachel stroked her chin, then nodded. "Fair enough." Vibrations ran along the wall. She coughed. "Are you okay? You look kinda, swaying."

I frowned. It wasn't my fault she was spinning around with the rest of the world. A hulking figure swung down from the overpass, a poppy potion held in his shovel-sized hands. I swung my ax at him, but it only took a little chunk spinning out of the purple meat. No vital organs. It was terrible, especially with the pounding in my head and my legs turning to warm pudding. I tried to think of tactics appropriate for this situation, but before I could react Rachel fell on top of me. I tried to rise, but again my awesome muscles were full of pudding. Everything took on a purple haze, like the song, and the world faded into black. I had no option but to take a heroic power-nap. Just a few seconds, and then I would split open that giant's ugly face.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up with a pounding headache and somebody biting my ear. For a few seconds, I thought Fast Jenny from Aphrodite cabin was getting frisky again. Blissful ignorance left me as smoke filled my nostrils and a hideous Lais Dragonian leered down at me. He was short for one of his cannibalistic giant race, only seven foot six, and he wasn't the one biting my ear.

"There's only two," he called to his comrade, a full twelve-foot giantess armed with flaming rocks. "Demigods always come in threes. It's a rule!"

"Untie me you dough-faced skidmark!" I shouted. Yeah, my powers of persuasion aren't quite equal to my battle skills or good looks.

The giants laughed those big, guffawing laughs, the kind that only seem to come out of really stupid people. Ashamed as I am to admit it, some of my half-brothers and half-sisters are guffawing types too.

"You stay here, Blood-boiler. I'll go scout around for the other one. I hope it's not a satyr, they're so bitter and gamey."

"Aw, you get to have all the fun," Blood-Boiler complained.

"As if," she said, twirling one of her matted locks. "You know they'd poke you full of celestial bronze if I wasn't around to protect you. Just don't eat any of them while I'm gone, and get them cooked right, or you'll be the next one over the fire."  
>Blood-boiler sighed. "Of course, honey. You're right, as always."<p>

"Don't you forget it, sweety-blood," she said. She pecked him on the cheek before lumbering off into the night.

My axe lay a full fifteen feet away from us, next to a meat cleaver made of Stygian Iron which must have belonged to Rachel. Of course, I had plenty of knives in my belt, boots, and some where you'd never find them. Weapons weren't a problem. A child of Ares always has a weapon hand.

No, the problem was that we'd been tied up with copper cable instead of regular rope. Celestial bronze could cut through it eventually, but it would draw sparks, and there's no way I could have sawed through it with that big ugly monster watching us.

Also, I'm not normally one to bitch and moan, but this was a really uncomfortable position. Like walking-in-on-your-mom-hitting-Ares-with-a-riding-crop uncomfortable (still trying to repress that memory). Fat Rachel was tied up against me, face-first, so that her fat belly mooshed against my back, and other portions of her fatty tissue pressed against mine. Unpleasant as that was, the fire below us heated up the copper wire, so my exposed skin was blistering with heat, and we were rotating. The dizziness in my head competed with the unpleasant sensation of feeling our mounting mass of sweat drop back and forth. Plus there was something stuck in my toes I couldn't shake out. That just always drives me nuts.

"Mr. Blood-Boiler? Sir?" Rachel said. Okay, that was good. Maybe he'd get close enough and I could headbutt him into submission. Then we'd…slowly roast to death until his girlfriend got back? Hmm. I needed a better plan than that.

He turned his big squashed face to us with an expression of utter contempt.

"I'm guessing from the smell that you've stuck garlic cloves between our toes, and you've drenched us in raspberry vinaigrette dressing?" she said, cautiously. He nodded his head the tiniest bit and gave the spit a few turns.

Okay, so that stick stuff I felt oozing between us wasn't sweat, or something worse. Good news. Better news, my comrade may have figured out a way out of this situation. Maybe she had a trick, or maybe she was going to charm him, or maybe she'd just realized that she was a daughter of the god of wriggling out of copper wires and disemboweling ugly cannibalistic giants.

"What in Echidna's name do you think you're doing, crap-head? A vinaigrette dressing? Really? On MEAT? What are you, trying out for Chronos's cheerleading squad?" she bellowed. "This is completely wrong for a human-meat dish!"

Blood-boiler looked shocked and hurt.

"If we get out of this alive, I am going to kill you very hard. If we don't, I am going to face-kick your shade from one end of the fields of punishment to the other end," I hissed.


	3. Chapter 3

"What?" the giant growled.

"You heard me," Fat Rachel shouted. "Zeus and Hera, you'd think that after centuries of eating human flesh, you'd know how to spice it properly. I mean, yeah, garlic goes great with a lot of things, but do you even think about how our feet will taste compared to the rest of us, or how nasty a sour dressing will taste on bitter human skin? I bet you're planning to serve us with a white wine two, you utter waste of protein!"

"N-no, of course not. Only the finest red goes with humans," Blood-boiler said, shoving a bottle of Champagne behind his back.

My tears of rage sizzled as they hit the fire. I could still hope that Rachel Venus had some clever ploy, but the sincerity in her voice broke my heart. I thought back on my years of teasing her, insulting her, calling her a brain-dead waste of space, a retarded garbage disposal, and a fat sack of crap. I decided I had been way too nice.

Rachel laughed at him, pausing only to cough on smoke. A child of Ares, I could endure pain easy, but the heat must be getting to her. "You're pathetic. Don't you know that olive oil is _the_ essential ingredient when cooking half-bloods?"

Blood-boiler frowned, then grinned like he thought he was being smart. "Oh, sure. Let me guess, you want me to wander all the way over to the Gaza Strip to get the finest Palestinian olive oil, but first I should untie you to make sure you don't get overcooked, right? Haw haw! I wasn't born yesterday, puny half-bloods."

He cranked the spit so that Rachel was above me. I heard sobs and felt more hot water roll down the back of my neck. Was she crying?

"Of course not! H-how can you even say such a thing? Look, meathead, my father was a world-famous chef. I started working in a New York ethnic restaurant at age seven! If I'm going to die a slow painful death, and be eaten, maybe while I'm still alive, the very _least_ you can do for me is make sure I taste good. There _is_such a thing as professional pride among chefs, but a glorified fry-cook like you wouldn't know that!"

Her voice had more acid than a gorgon's blood. I found myself wanting to apologize to her.

Blood-boiler lowered his head. I could see things nesting in his rat's nest hair. He poked his two clawed fingers together. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just wanted to cook you the way mommy taught me."

"Well, that's understandable," she said, grudgingly. "But I bet your mother knew a lot more about cooking than you, and she had a keen nose. A vinaigrette dressing only works on human flesh if you have just the right spices handy and know exactly when to pull them out. With a lean, muscular child of Ares like this one, and a beef-fed plump girl like me, what you want to do first is take us off the open fire and marinate us. You've got some cheap port, right?"

For the first time, I took in my surroundings before the mass of fevered flesh pressed up against me and the searing heat below. We were in the long-abandoned remains of a 50's-style diner, the shelves stocked with every kind of condiment, spice, and a rack of wines that would make our camp director try to break Zeus's restriction on him. The giant grinned and pulled out a jug of King's brand port.

"No, not that stuff," Rachel groaned. "It's too cheap and sticky. You'll make us sick with that, and the last thing you want is a technical yawn sloshing around in your stew-pot. Of course, you don't _have_ to stew us. Personally, I think a nice, slow, baking might do the best, provided you've got enough mint leaves and…"

I passed the time fantasizing about more elaborate ways to butcher Rachel Venus while she listed off ways that Blood Boiler could cook us up to share with his girlfriend. He settled on a very slow bake and marinade, something that would leave us fully conscious and alive while we slowly cooked, and might even leave us still alive when he bit into us for the first taste of wine-saturated internal organs. I tried to spit out the wine he funnel-fed into my mouth, but his brute strength won out, and I felt nearly a gallon of booze sloshing around inside me when the tub was removed. I gasped and choked while Rachel giggled and belched. She seemed to be enjoying the process.

I decided that kicking her shade across the fields of punishment wasn't enough. I'd have to boil her in oil while she listened to opera music, shove a handy cactus in a very private place, and then choke-slam her into Tartarus itself.


	4. Chapter 4

We were both crammed into an industrial-sized oven. My bulging muscles and her chub gave him a little trouble. Just as Blood-boiler closed the door, Rae shouted "Stuffing!"

We sat against the hot metal for a while. Merciful intoxication numbed me to a little of the pain, and I thought about all the necks I wouldn't get to sever and all the girls (and one guy, no I won't tell you who, it's a special case) I wouldn't be able to introduce to the rough side of love while my flesh roasted.

The giant pressed his grotesque face against the oven door and mouthed "What did you say?"

"The stuffing!" Rachel screamed. "You forgot the stuffing!"

The giant opened the door. I gasped for breath, shivering as the room-temperature air raked across my heated body. I noticed, in that abstract, inner-strategist way, that I was so dehydrated and cooked my body could no longer produce sweat.

"I mean, stuffing would help with the *urp* marinade," she said. I felt her drool run down the back of my neck. Normally it would have annoyed me, but moisture brought some small measure of relief, for which I was grateful. "Plus, since you've gone to all this trouble to cook us the right way, for which I am very, _very_ thankful, you might as well go the whole nine yards and stick an apple in each of our mouths. I bet your girlfriend would like that fancy touch," she purred. I could feel her stomach rumbling.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," he said. "Marrow-sucker has been complaining a lot that I don't give her anything fancy." He sighed and fished around for the right ingredients.

"I'm starving," Rae whimpered. "I need food."

"My heart breaks for you," I said, with sarcasm that could melt through armor. She didn't respond.

"Open up, heroes!" Blood-boiler said cheerfully. He yanked open my mouth and I tried not to choke on several fistfuls of stuffing. By the time he finished, my stomach was aching. I probably would have thrown up if I wasn't already plastered from the marinade he'd poured down my throat.

"Go to the cr-mph!" I said, as he shoved a Granny Smith apple halfway down my throat. Then he filled up his clawed fingers with stuffing and began to cram it into Rachel's mouth.

"More!" Rachel squealed. Her stomach roared like the Nemean Lion. The giant crammed another few fistfuls of seasoned bread crumbs into her mouth.

"Come on! I've got plenty of room left, and this stuff will taste so good when it mingles with my fatty juices. Is that *munch* all you've got? You better *urp* mix up another batch."

While the giant whipped up another bowl of stuffing, I could hear Rachel smacking her lips and feel her stomach rumbling against me. She squirmed inside her constraints, and I could feel her chunky mass grinding against me.

"Ease up, tubby bitch. I'd hate to die from friction burns before I get a chance to slowly die of heat stroke or blood loss while I'm chewed up, thanks to _your_ helpful advice."

"I'm still hungry,' Rachel snarled. I swear I could _feel_ the green light from her eyes burning into my neck.

The giant came back. "Okay, I need to have you guys cooked by the time honey-bones gets back, so this is the last bowl of stuffing." He just poured it into her mouth, and she gobbled it all down. I could feel the slight pressure as her stomach expanded a little against my back. Then he raised up his hands with a gala apple and stuffed it into Rachel's mouth.

That was a big mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey!" the giant shouted. "Let go."

Rachel didn't let go. He tried reached his other hand inside to pry her mouth open. That was his second mistake. Her jaw held fast.

"Mmm," Rachel moaned. She sucked down his arms. I could feel her throat swelling, her stomach bulging, as she gulped them down up to the shoulders.

"W-what are you doing? I've never met a half-blood that can do this. Y-your not one of the big three, are you?" His voice rose up an octave as he spoke. It cracked a little. In retrospect, he must have been a late-blooming adolescent, in giant years.

"Mmph," Rachel explained. She sucked in his big ugly head, and I felt her neck continue to swell. His legs kicked in the air as she swallowed his torso, and her belly kept bulging. The hot wires dug into my abs and ribs.

Rachel Venus swallowed down the last bit of Blood-boiler the Lais Dragonian, and the force of her expanding stomach broke apart the wires. I rolled off of her, and she gave a contented belch that shattered glass and left a ringing in my ear.

I stared at Rae's blissful smile. I listened to the screams and pleading emerging from her four-foot-wide squirming gut.

"I'm a bit less hungry now,' Rachel said to me. She winked.

Rachel insisted we gather up all the ingredients and spare food in the diner. I took what I could hold, reclaimed our weapons, and then helped her too her feet. I can bench press a lot, but it took nearly all of my sexy muscles to help that bloated girl upright. With me carrying most of the weight from her protesting belly, she waddled out of the abandoned restaurant before her meal's girlfriend could return. She got stuck, twice, but with a little olive oil around the sides and the strength of a son of Ares she managed to squeeze through.

Oh yeah, we eventually made it to the convenience store. I worried about how the staff would take her super-sized howling bulge, but she'd digested some of the giant by then, and the combined power of two armed demigods and a monster trapped inside of one of them generated a lot of mist. The counter clerk made insinuations about Rachel's virtue and love life, which I responded to by threatening to spread his face across three state lines. Some woman in the shop asked Rachel when she was due. I bought a copy of Ghost Rider (which only exists because of an unholy pact between Persephone and Dionsyus) and Jennifer's Body, both movies that were banned at the camp. I also bought four bottles of chocolate syrup and seven tubs of Haagen-Daz ice cream.

She ate two of those tubs and drank one bottle of syrup on the way home. I swear on the River Styx, it's true.

So, after that time, I stopped making fun of her. She says she doesn't mind the nick-names, that she's a little flattered in a weird way when people make fun of her steadily-increasing weight. I don't want to take any chances.

I give her a twenty-pound chocolate bar every Eros day, not because I have a crush or because I'm afraid of her, but purely out of respect for a fellow warrior. Anyway, right now she's going out with a guy from Apollo cabin and Dionysus cabin. I did hear from Jean that their relationship is looking shakey though. The kid from Dionysus has his eye on one of the Stole brothers and the kid form Apollo's cabin is pissed as hell about her eating the live goat he was going to sacrifice to her dad. So we'll see.

One night, I asked Rae Venus if she was a daughter of Hermes, or just unclaimed. She said that her dad had revealed he knew his lover's true name: Adephagia, goddess of gluttony.


End file.
